


Wrath

by o0kaymawn0o



Series: Sins [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam, Brother/Brother, Come as Lube, Fight Sex, Fuck Or Die, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Dean Winchester, Rimming, Rough Sex, Top Dean, Violence, Wincest - Freeform, wrath - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0kaymawn0o/pseuds/o0kaymawn0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third in the Sins series--Wrath: Dean and Sam are mad at each other. They fight. They fuck. They make up. They apologize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrath

The door slams shut behind them, tension thick in the air as they follow one another into the kitchen, still yelling at each other—the battle raging on.

“I don’t care what I said a few days ago, I am _not_ okay with that,” Dean snaps, throwing the fridge open and snatching a beer from the top shelf, popping the top off on the counter and ignoring Sam’s warning not to do that.

“That’s the problem, Dean. You never listen to me. You can’t just expect me not to do something just because _you_ say so,” Sam shoots back, palming the countertops with fury, shoulders quaking.

“You should. I’m your older brother—“

“Like that makes a difference! I’m old enough to make my own decisions. _You_ don’t run my life anymore, Dean.”

Dean recoils from the sudden outburst, lost for what to say. He’s never controlled Sam’s life. He’s been there for him through every step of the way.

“I’m sorry if my concern for you is that horrible, Samantha.”

At the old nickname, Sam whirls on his brother and slaps the beer out of his hand just as he takes a sip. The action causes the head of the bottle to bump Dean’s top lip, which leaves a hot sting. Dean presses his hand to his mouth, ignoring the sound of the glass shattering around him.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yells, swinging a well-aimed punch which knocks Sam to the ground. The younger man recovers himself quickly and takes a shot at Dean’s ankle. Dean avoids the attack, reaching down and yanking Sam up by the collar, slamming his back into the wall three times with brutal force.

Sam cries out at the pain, his hair falling all over the place.

Gathering his bearings, Sam presses his fingers into Dean’s wrists with as much strength as he can muster. As the grip slackens, he brings a leg up and kicks out, forcing Dean to land on his back, _hard._

The wind is knocked out of the older man. He rolls backwards, latching onto the next kick and swinging Sam around, releasing Sam and watching as he bursts through the kitchen doors, bringing it down with him.

Sam’s back arches off the floor, and he releases a pained groan.

“Look, Sam, I’m not as comfortable as I thought I might be with the idea of you flirting with the victims to get information. It makes my skin itch and I just want to smash their faces against the wall. I can’t deal with it,” Dean admits, running a hand through his hair, shoulders taught with tension.

Struggling on the floor, Sam rolls over onto his stomach, pressing back until he’s on all fours, evening out his breathing.

“Fine. Then _take_ me. Do whatever you need to do—leave a mark if you have to, Dean—anything to stop this jealousy when you don’t need it.”

Dean hesitates.

He knows Sam is serious.

He will give himself to Dean to crush these insecurities.

“Just do it,” Sam urges, using a single hand to tug his jeans and boxers down, exposing his rear, still slightly wet from the morning activities.

Swallowing, Dean unbuckles his belt, memories of Sam’s flirtatious smiles being directed at others—people that don’t deserve any such thing from _his_ Sammy. The image spurs him on and he growls, wrenching his dark denims and briefs past his knee.

He kneels behind Sam, palming the meaty flesh he’s felt so many times before.

His cock hardens.

His mind turns to mush.

He tilts, running his tongue over the puckered entrance, tasting Sammy—tasting himself.

Sam balances himself on his elbows, resting his forehead on the tops of his knuckles.

Pressing back into the devious ministrations.

Dean crooks his two indexes into Sam’s hole, stretching the muscle, allowing his tongue to sink further into the tight warmth.

“Fuck…”

Thumbing the slit of his cock, Dean gathers the pre-come, applying it to Sam’s crack, urging his fingers to loosen the way, a second one immediately following the first, widening—encouraging Sam to open for him.

“Dean, hurry up,” Sam breathes, frustrated.

Dean makes quick work of slicking up his cock before sliding into the pliant body in one piston of his hips, filling Sam completely—binding them in a spell that can only be performed by those that are truly in love—in tune—resonated.

Sam rocks on his knees, meeting Dean’s thrusts, eager for Dean to enforce on him the wonders and the magic only Dean can perform. The way Dean has mapped out his body on countless occasions—so familiar with how Sam ticks, how to make him squirm and writhe beneath him.

Sam would be ashamed if it weren’t so rewarding.

Angling his hips accordingly, Dean pushes in again, knowing the exact rhythm that will get them off in a matter of minutes.

This isn’t passionate.

This is make up sex.

They’re both angry with each other—that hasn’t changed.

Dean’s pissed at Sam for using his skills of flirting with just his eyes to have the victims putty in his hands.

Sam’s pissed at Dean for the older man even contemplating Sam cheating on him.

The pace is rough—hard hitting, full of power and want. Dean snaps forward, shoving Sam several inches across the floor, possibly leaving a bruise for the next day.

Sam doesn’t care.

His neck cranes and he cries out, palms falling against the floor, leveling him.

Skin meets skin in a thunderous embrace.

Calloused hands position on his shoulders, pulling him back hard to meet the erratic impact—the provocative back and forth channeling streams of ecstasy throughout his body, his skin warm to the touch from the intensity—sweat protrudes, dampening his shirt.

Sam’s cock bounces between his legs, forming a mirage from the harsh pounding, his anal channel swallowing Dean’s thrusts, approving the position—the power; the dominance, filling him with power and aggression.

“Come, Sam,” Dean orders gruffly, sliding fully into Sam one more time as his cock juts, quivering inside Sam’s heat as strings of come deposit into Sam’s rectum, the younger man’s ring reflexively clenching, milking Dean.

As if Dean’s command set off a fire in Sam’s abdomen, he tenses as he shoots onto the floor, leaving a mess—a mess that he’s too tired to clean up or even deal with.

Finished, they both fall to the ground, breathing heavy and satisfied.

And, in a breath, they both say:

“Sorry.”               

 

 

 


End file.
